Tribute to an Angel

I’ve written here about my life, as it is, and sometimes how I wish it could be. I’ve written about my Lord and Savior, and the mystery of His continuing love for me; I’m always fascinated by it. I’ve written a lot about my mom, and had fond memories here of my dad, my sister, and my brother. And I’ve written about my friends, priests, and even strangers who I have encountered and who have impacted my life. And I’ve written about and to you, my on-line friends. You are all important.

I’ve written here about peaceful herds of deer --- and the few I’ve almost hit; and I’ve written about birds, dogs, cats, bears, and yes, even cows. I’ve written some about trees and sunsets and my garden, and so many other blessings of God’s creation. I’ve written about many things that were and are part of my life, things which I now see were and are very important, although they may have once seemed very small.

But I’ve never written about Michael.

I don’t know when I named my guardian angel Michael. It’s just always been his name; perhaps he told me it once long ago. I’ve been aware of his presence for a long time, and I pray to him each morning and each evening. But it’s the times in-between in which he gets me into trouble --- or is it the other way around? I guess you’d have to ask him. He’s always around me, whether working or playing or praying, but I think he waits for those adventurous days, the days when life is so fast and often so interesting. Although he is always a friend I can talk to, then is when he plays a major role in my life. (I think he secretly likes to take control of things in rough times, just to show me up for all those times when I screwed up big time, but still had the nerve to say to him with a straight face: “Well, Michael! Where WERE you?”)

I can’t tell you how many times I think Michael saved my physical life, in part because there’s so many I remember, and lots I remember only through an alcohol haze, and only he would be aware of the times I never even knew about. I suspect he’s stopped counting too. He’s just there. I remember the time I was walking in the railroad yard on a rainy night (I worked my way through college there), and I wasn’t watching things around me as the silent flat car crept down the tracks behind me. Only the faint ‘click’ as it went over a track joint caused me to jump aside, as it brushed my pant leg. (I never checked if a joint was really there, or if that was Michael clicking his tongue.) And there was the time a caboose brushed my leg one day, as I did a very stupid thing and walked right behind it, knowing that an engine was tied to the other end of the train. The cars slammed together as the train pulled back, narrowly missing me as I hopped off the track --- I think Tom Ryan, the conductor on that caboose not three feet from me, almost had a heart attack as he screamed my name. Afterwards, he had to sit down for twenty minutes; he was shaking so much. But Michael and I, well, we went in and had a coke. In the four years I worked on the railroad, three men died. One from a car rolling over his legs, as almost happened to me, and two during the huge snow storm of 1967, including the man I insisted work during that storm, although he had only come in for his paycheck. I’ll never forget his name. I’ve often sent Michael to be with others who I worried about, asking him to help their angels because I thought it was necessary. I wish I would have asked him to help others that night, the night two very good men, with families, died within 24 hours.

But Michael was not just there to save my physical life, he’s also saved and guided my spiritual life --- one which I often paid no attention to, but he did. I think that at some times of my life I was as a King Arthur, or so I acted, and Michael was as Merlin. I talked to him, because I knew that he knew so much. I think I probably did sing to him the song “How to Handle a Woman,” although I don’t think I ever heard his answers --- or if I did, I didn’t pay attention. I think I lived much of my life in a little Camelot, carefree, relatively happy, and thinking that it never rained until after sunset, even as wars and deceit were brewing around me. I was oblivious to many of the bad things until they happened, but Michael saw them coming and often gave me advice on doing things which I later saw made the bad things be much less worse than they could have been. Michael let me waltz happily down the road of my life, even when I took a turn or two towards hell. He kept the briars and brambles from scratching me, so I was protected from my stupidity along much of the way --- looking back, I’m not too sure that was a good thing, but no matter, when he was fed up with my behavior Michael put roadblocks up in front of me which I gleefully crashed into (the second had to be so large that I believe he called my heavenly Mother, Mary, in to help him). And the pains of those crashes were very, very deep, and the recoveries long and very touch and go. But he was with me all the way. From when I played in my sandbox, until when I lay in my final sand box, I know he will be there. I love him so much.

And Michael was there for my dreams, when I was a Don Quixote and he was a Sancho Panza, fighting imagined dragons, together. Oh I was going to save the company I worked for, the Church, and oh so many poor and weak I met or just read about. Michael knew I often was tilting at windmills, but he went along with me, singing along the way. He knew that sometimes it was the effort and intention that counted, and it made me a better man, even if, despite all my glorious efforts, it helped no one else. I imagine many of those times he was humming “To Dream the Impossible Dream.” No, I am confident he was, because I can recall many a time when I hummed along with him, as we tried to do so many good things.

And who knows what lies ahead for us? I can see the room wherein lies my death bed, but it’s not a place I’ve yet visited, and there is so much more I wish to see and do, for my Lord and my Master. Perhaps even the rescue of some fair maiden?? (But does one even exist in these days so lacking grace and enchantment; I don’t know.) But for a knight errant, with his faithful companion at his side, surely all quests are theirs to achieve, if only they will believe.

We may have failed often in my life, but it was not for want of trying.

Oops, did you catch that last line? “We may have failed;” I just gave Michael co-blame for the disasters which I lived through, and all of which I undoubtedly caused. Looking back now, I can see how few times I gave him credit for our successes. Michael, I’m sorry.

I think I’ll stop here. I feel there are so many other things I must say to Michael, but they are private. I trust you’ll understand. Before he and I go to celebrate with a glass of wine together however, I just want to say once more what a wonderful guardian angel he is, and how blessed I am that God chose him for me.

No, Michael, just because we’re having a glass of wine together at the bar, you needn’t worry that I’ll start calling you Harvey. That was a rabbit not an angel, and anyway, I never have more than two glasses of wine any more. That’s one lesson you taught me that I won’t forget. What’s that? Oh yes, I know, there are lots of other lessons you still need to repeat --- often. I’m trying, Michael, I’m trying. And with you with me, I’ll not be anxious.

So let’s go, already. I’m sure adventure awaits us.